Who is she…when I see her my heart rests…because She’s with me for the same reason that I’m with her… To push her forward… Not just into tomorrow because eventually all of our tomorrow’s run out… But encourage her forward back to her source… My source… Our source… And Through eachother we prepare for this… We learn what being faithful, honorable, and dependable is really all about. This isn’t just about our bodies… The old human need that shatters so many immature and undisciplined lives. I’m hers… She’s mine… As is everything we’ve been given. This is aught but a dream some say.. This type of meaningful spiritual romance doesn’t exist in our Jerry Springer world anymore. Might as well just shack up Pack and get it over with I’m told while ur still somewhat desirable.. Oh lol and shave that beard off!… No!… Though my eyes do wander from time to time at the brilliant and beautiful craftsmanship of how the Creator made my sexual opposite, I know the truth about something most men with no real spiritual road don’t. Drinking spoiled milk is guaranteed to make u sick…milk that’s been sitting out too long in the heat of the day… And Not kept cool and encased… Protected. Yeah… I’m human, I get thirsty too…but I’ll wait.

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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